The Virgin Diaries: I’m a Virgin Not a Five Year-Old

About a year ago the ladies of a mentoring org I’m in and I were having a huge sleepover in one of the dorms. Per usual, when a group of young women gather, sex, guys and relationships entered the conversation. Things gets explicit. And when I say explicit, I mean detailed descriptions on how to give oral sex and ass clapping demonstrations. I’m not going to lie to you and say I didn’t blush a little bit, but you better believe I was paying all of the attention and taking mental note so I could bust out the tricks on that future destined day.

Nature calls during the conversation, so I go to the bathroom. Again per usual of a young lady in a bathroom, I take my sweet time — fixing my hair, putting on Chapstick, looking in the mirror and whatever else. All of a sudden my friend bursts through the bathroom door.

“Are you okay? You’ve been gone a while. We got worried,” she says genuinely concerned.

I reply that I am and that I was just lollygagging. My heart warms at the fact that my friends are looking out for me.

“Oh okay, just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset by the conversation,” she says.

I feel the warmth ebbing away as confusion takes it’s place. Why the hell would I be upset by the conversation? I was actually quite entertained by it. My laughter wasn’t evidence of that? So I ask her.

Did she think that I didn’t know what sex entailed? I know what happens in a bedroom— hell, half that stuff happens at parties!

It wasn’t until I got to college where I met seasoned players of sexual activity that I realized how much people associate sex with being an adult. I spent the first two years in college fighting tooth and nail to get people’s respect on my opinions on everything, especially on men and relationships.

People truly believe a little peen inside of you magically opens you’re eyes to the ways of the world and that those who bypassed it aren’t capable, sensible adults. Beg to differ? Watch every episode of Maury and tell me this fast little girls don’t think they’re grown because their cherry was popped. Granted those are probably staged and are over dramatic, but things like that are real.

You tell some people that you’re a virgin and they adopt this Nicki Minaj “all these bitches is my sons” type attitude. They think they have teach you everything related to relationships.

Newsflash, I’m not your son…I’m a girl. And you don’t have to hold my hand through anything.